


When Arthur Does That

by doomcanary



Series: Melinna [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M, Genderfuck, Genderplay, M/M, Magical Accidents, arthur is an ass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-19
Updated: 2014-03-19
Packaged: 2018-01-16 08:31:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1338838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doomcanary/pseuds/doomcanary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Interlude.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Arthur Does That

Merlin has an awful lot of fun at Arthur's expense in the couple of weeks following Melinna's “visit”. Arthur's constantly aware of his responsibilities as the crown prince, and Merlin starts to develop a really finely-tuned sense of when he can drop in a look, a word, or a smile, and make Arthur's back stiffen and his face flush with embarrassment. It's no crime around Camelot for a noble to indulge himself with a servant of either gender – Merlin's seen plenty of men and women staggering back from the main wings with messy hair and smiles on their faces in the mornings. But Arthur has a bit of a thing about the fact that some day he's going to have to get married and produce an heir, and Merlin is unable to resist playing with that. He likes to linger in the room when he's dismissed, and ask whether there's anything else Arthur feels he needs; any sweetmeats or luxuries, perhaps.

“I already told you, Merlin, that will be all,” says Arthur irritatedly. He's in front of a pile of paperwork, which he always hates.

“Something to take your mind off your frustration, perhaps?” asks Merlin innocently. Arthur looks up, blankly, and Merlin meets his eyes with a long slow look, and a little smile.

“Get out, Merlin,” says Arthur, colouring.

But there are two things Merlin's not counting on. Firstly, the fact that Arthur, while he may occasionally be a bit slow on the uptake, is a brilliant strategist, and has been trained to it all his life; and secondly, that he loves winding his father up almost as much as Merlin likes teasing him.

Two days later they're in an interminable council meeting with Uther, who's boring everyone in the room senseless with an account of the lands, armies, court life and family (paying specific attention to daughters) of the ruler of some weird place or other. Camelot is heading there for a state visit next week, which apparently means Arthur needs to get his sleep in early in councils like this one.

Merlin's by the door behind the head of the table; Uther's back is to him, and Arthur is at the foot of the table, looking straight at him. Various knights and notables of the court are lining the sides, all with identical, slightly glazed expressions.

“- a fascinating custom of taking a number of wives, who I am led to believe travel with the Sultan everywhere,” says Uther. “The harem is to be considered strictly off limits, except on a personal invitation from the Sultan himself; it has no doors leading into any other part of his palace and is closely guarded at all times, so your servants _will_ be caught if they attempt to misbehave. Now, Arthur; the Sultan has three eligible daughters, who are not usually accommodated in the harem. I expect you to exercise the most rigid courtesy.”

Uther's choice of words is a gift; Merlin feels a laugh bubbling up inside him. He looks straight into Arthur's eyes, and runs his fingers slowly up and down the graceful neck of the jug he's holding.

Arthur sits back a little in his chair, takes a sip from his wine goblet, and then very deliberately sets it down on the table right in front of him. From where Merlin's standing, it's exactly where Arthur's cock would be if he happened to be naked. Arthur returns the look Merlin gave him, and one blond eyebrow quirks, ever so slightly. Merlin smirks. Arthur holds his gaze, and idly runs a finger down the stem of the goblet. Merlin starts to giggle silently, his shoulders shaking with mirth.

And Arthur, the bastard, picks up the goblet again, tosses the last of its contents down his throat and holds it up imperiously for a refill. Merlin walks over to the table desperately biting his lip, trying not to give himself away.

“I would like to organise some suitable entertainment,” Uther is saying. “Arthur, what can you offer?”

Arthur pauses until Merlin leans down to fill his goblet.

“Perhaps a demonstration of the staff?” he says blandly. As he says it, he cocks his hips very slightly, right in Merlin's eye-line. Merlin bites his lip even harder.

“I've been working on a new technique,” Arthur goes on, dropping a hand onto his lap. One finger traces a long curve up his thigh, right towards his groin. Merlin squeezes his eyes shut, wrestling with a grin that's threatening to give him away.

“It's two-handed,” says Arthur.

The drop in his voice is so subtle only someone who knows him as well as Merlin could catch it – and Merlin's laughing fit redoubles. He shakes so hard with it that his hand wobbles; wine slops onto the table. The steward stares coldly; Uther makes a sound of regal irritation.

“Really, Merlin,” says Arthur, with an air of boredom. “You're dreadfully wasteful. Next time you make a mess like that, I'll have you clean it up with your tongue.”

Merlin grabs the jug, squeaks something that might be an apology, and practically runs out of the room. He collapses against the wall outside, and gives in to a fit of hysterical laughter that leaves his face aching and his stomach sore. He's barely got himself together when the door opens and Uther comes sweeping out, followed by his son.

“Come along, Merlin,” says Arthur briskly. “Plenty of time for that later. We still have to pack my equipment.”

***

“I'm going to kill you,” says Merlin, when they get back to Arthur's rooms.

“I don't see what for,” says Arthur, the picture of something that's not quite innocence. “Or have you forgotten you're my _man_ servant? Having trouble _taking it_ , are we, instead of giving it out?”

“Oh, I give as good as I get every time,” says Merlin, determined not to be out-camped.

“Really,” says Arthur. He pushes himself up from leaning against the table, and spreads his hands in an inviting gesture. “Please, do demonstrate.”

And Merlin, infuriatingly, is speechless. Because half of him knows that he's Merlin, and Arthur's Arthur, and the whole reason it was ever funny to take the piss about all this is that Merlin and Arthur just don't _do_ that kind of thing – but the other half remembers being Melinna, wrapped in Arthur's arms, held close against silken skin. And that half of him can't look at the prince without -

“You know what? No,” says Merlin. He turns to go. “Your red doublet's already laid out. I'll see you after dinner.”

As he leaves, Merlin knows exactly what the look on Arthur's face will be. Calculated smugness; he's won, and he knows it. Merlin won't be able to get a rise out of him about this ever again.

Merlin _hates_ it when Arthur does that.


End file.
